


Alfred Adjusts to Life With a Mini-Monster Truck Underfoot

by CaraMia



Series: The Billion-Heirs' Club [2]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-04
Updated: 2015-09-04
Packaged: 2018-04-19 01:31:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4727702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaraMia/pseuds/CaraMia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just what it says on the tin. Bruce comes home from boarding school holding a remote control monster truck.</p><p>Featuring very briefly a young Tony who is lonely at MIT and decides that calling his younger sidekick is the distraction he needs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Alfred Adjusts to Life With a Mini-Monster Truck Underfoot

**Author's Note:**

> Here, have some child-Bruce and Alfred getting along WITH ZERO ANGST. I'll write some angst for them later. For now, just enjoy their happiness.

Alfred was not a pacer by nature. He preferred to wait in stillness, usually with a book and brandy at hand. The tension he was feeling now though, twisting through his gut, had him pacing. He'd picked up a duster and a vacuum so he was at least pacing with purpose, but still. He'd cleaned the mansion yesterday and the day before and there were no further spots that could possibly need attention.

When he was half-way through polishing all the doorknobs, Alfred admitted to himself that he regretted not going to pick up Bruce himself.

But the thought of that child having to walk into the uninhabited mansion... 

Alfred wanted to burn the whole place down and take Bruce to some cottage on the seaside (which he recognized as a very British desire), where they could keep bees and not have to deal with reporters, gossip, and sympathetic looks. 

Finally, finally the door opened and the driver called out for him. 

Alfred was almost to the entryway when he heard the whir of something mechanical. There was Bruce, still thin and pale but his eyes were livelier and Alfred sighed with relief, thinking that sending him to school had helped at least a little. Alfred's greeting died when he saw what Bruce clutched in his arms. 

Alfred would never admit this, ever, no matter what torture was inflicted upon him, but he'd been bored while Bruce was gone. And a bored Alfred had found Monster Truck Rallies to be the exact thing he needed to liven up his evenings. He might even own one of those ridiculous helmets with holders for two beer cans, though, obviously, he would deny this as well. 

(It helps enhance the experience. Tony, helped by a reluctant Bruce, will find it one day and they spend a truly baffling amount of time trying to figure out where it came from.) 

So to find his young charge holding a monster truck and wearing a very determined expression was a surprise to say the least. 

“I’m keeping her,” Bruce said, and his manner was so reminiscent of his mother’s force of will and the stubbornly clenched jaw of his father that Alfred had to smile. 

“Of course, Master Bruce. She does not look like she will require much food or space. Pray, though, where did you get such a thing?” 

Bruce set the truck down carefully, not answering until it had sped to all corners of the entryway and returned to him (like a pet, somehow). His response, though neither knew it at the time, marked the beginning of Alfred’s chronic sighing. 

“Tony Stark gave her to me.” 

* 

All things considered, Alfred thinks he’s doing pretty well adjusting to life with a tiny Monster Truck constantly underfoot. Though he sighs when he has to step over her in the kitchen or help her up some stairs so she can keep chasing Bruce, her dogged persistence in pursuing the young boy never fails to make him smile. Mostly because she so obviously delights Bruce. 

What Alfred was not prepared for was the constant and increasingly bizarre prank calls. 

“Hello is this the residence of one surly young man with a truly impressive glower –“ 

“You should see this place, short stack, actually, maybe not, it’s so sunny here you’d probably turn into dust –“ 

“Get it, it was a vampire joke –“ 

Alfred just hangs up, figuring the young man will tire of the game eventually. Then one day Bruce answered the phone when Alfred’s hands were full. They had a rule for these occasions. Bruce could answer, but only if Alfred was also there and he put it on speakerphone. (Too many calls from callous reporters and thrill seekers and people offering information for the right price.) So Alfred got to hear the whole exchange. 

“Wayne Manor.” 

“HEY ADDAM’S FAMILY MANOR. Glad I finally caught you, your answering machine is pretty rude. What’s the recording time on that, three seconds? I could fix that for you. Hell, I bet I could fix that over the phone – no, wait, pretend I didn’t just swear. Shit, this is why I don’t make any friends isn’t it.” 

“No, Tony, I’m pretty sure it’s just your personality,” Bruce answered drily, but he was laughing. Alfred, surprised to hear the voice of the prank caller and Bruce’s laughter, stopped lifting boxes down from the closet to listen. 

“Wow, rude. You’re ruder than your answering machine. Jeez. Hang up, I want to talk to your surly British machine. At least IT says hello when it answers the phone.” 

“We don’t have a British answering—” Bruce looked up, met Alfred’s eyes, and burst out laughing. The voice on the phone had paused briefly in confusion, but continued nonstop through Bruce’s laughter. 

“What, what’s so funny, Bruce, Brucie, don’t leave me hanging, Bruce, there’s no way for me to know what’s happening there, it’s not like I have a video feed into your house slash manor, oh wait, I bet I could open up Penny from here, no, shit, I put her on a closed –”

“Tony,” Bruce cut in, taking huge gasps of air, “Tony, there’s no answering machine. It’s Alfred. Did you say who you were, or did you just start talking?” 

Sudden silence. 

Bruce, who had almost gotten his laughter under control, burst out again, leaning his back against the wall by the phone and sliding down to rest on the floor. 

Smiling, Alfred walked over and picked up the phone. 

“I do believe young Master Bruce is having a laugh at your expense, young man. Might I be addressing Anthony Stark?” 

Alfred could almost hear Tony sit up straight before he answered. 

“Yes sir, might I be addressing the man who has been hanging up on me for the past few days?” 

“Indeed, sir. Though I prefer ‘Alfred’ as a form of address, since ‘surly British answering machine’ is rather a mouthful.” 

There was a slightly strangled sound on the other end of the phone line. 

“Of course, Alfred. I will keep that in mind.” A pause. “Is he done laughing yet?” 

Bruce, standing now but still smiling, was holding his hand out for the phone. 

“It does appear so. I wouldn’t bet on him letting you forget it any time soon, however.” 

Alfred returned the smile and handed the phone over before heading back to his rearranging. Behind him came the sound of Bruce’s laughter starting again. 

He rather liked the sound of it.


End file.
